After A Nightmare
by s. du jour
Summary: "Do you—do you regret coming with me?" It was the hardest thing he had ever had to say. - Christine and Raoul deal with their ghosts and find their strengths. 2004 movie-based. Oneshot. RC fluff/angst.


**So I've finally edited and added to this, a year and a half after I said I would. This seems to be becoming kind of a pattern with me.**

**Anyway, I imagine this is what it would've been like after Christine left with Raoul rather than staying with the Phantom. I think they both would've had a lot of issues for a while... **

**This is mostly from Raoul's point of view, because he's such a sweetie. Just wanted to throw that in there. :)  
**

* * *

The movement of the boat rocked both passengers gently, forward, backward, as Raoul maneouvered them back down the buried waterway, back to the dry ground under the Opera House.

He wondered what Christine had endured, what horrors she had seen in the Phantom's lair that were shut up tight in her eyes. She looked back once, and he felt her body stiffen. Fear? Disbelief? Regret?

But she didn't say anything, instead clinging to his side.

Something rustled, and he noticed for the first time that she wore a white wedding-dress, one he had never seen before. Had she—had they—?

She was shaking. She was crying. He didn't blame her, knowing that he had failed to rescue her, had been instead tied up like a fool and forced to watch her make a hideous choice.

And he couldn't help but remember that kiss between his fiancée and that monster. Somehow, inexplicably, she had done it of her own volition. And the kiss had been one of passion. Tied up and forced to watch, he had been helpless to pull them apart—

His heart ached for himself and for the one he loved.

"Christine, you should sit down," he said softly.

"No, Raoul. I want to stand." Her voice was, for the most part, firm.

But she held onto him too tightly, her wet and colourless dress sticking to his own sodden clothes.

* * *

Once they were on dry land, she held him tight as though she'd never truly believed they'd be free, together.

His neck was sore, but he let her embrace him. Some things were more important than sore necks. He kissed her, and she didn't hesitate in kissing him back. Then suddenly, she turned away from him. Shocked and hurt, he pulled back and stared at her.

"I don't know what I've done," she said hollowly.

Understanding filled him like water flowing from an open sluice-gate.

"You couldn't have done anything else."

Christine ignored him. "I couldn't have let you... I _had_ to… And…and when I…I…" She gulped, and two fresh tears slid out from under her closed eyelids. Raoul itched to clear them away, but he didn't want to frighten her into stopping. So all he did was hold her. She inhaled raggedly and tried to carry on. Raoul waited with bated breath.

"I wasn't sure—I was so happy for one instant…It was so hard to know what I was doing, and for a moment I thought I… _loved_ him."

Raoul didn't know what to say—couldn't say anything.

"No, I lie. I loved him for longer. I think I still do. How could I not?"

She knew what she was saying was something he shouldn't have to hear, something she should tell somebody else, or no-one at all. But oh, how she needed someone to listen, and the words came spilling out too fast for her to stop them.

When Raoul said nothing, she continued softly, more to herself: "Which was he? Guardian, father, friend…?"

_Lover?_

The word hung unspoken in the air, making it dense and heavy with sadness and jealousy.

"Do you—do you regret coming with me?" It was the hardest thing he had ever had to say.

"No!" She flew to him, feet hitting the flagged-stone floor with a slap. She clung to him with what must have been all her strength.

"He taught me how to sing, but _I love you_. Never doubt that, Raoul; never doubt that." In the dim light, he could see her eyes, brown and pleading. "Please try to understand. Please."

He couldn't understand; it was a blow, and he knew she could see it in his eyes. And it made her cry more: wretched, sobbing gasps that didn't let up. He held her in his lap and stroked her hair and she cried like a baby. He hoped she didn't notice the tears of his own that dropped onto her dress.

"I was so frightened, Raoul."

Raoul's arms tightened around her. "Never again," he whispered, more to himself than to her.

"I'm not strong, Raoul. I need somebody to save me."

Raoul's chest tightened, because he knew that he hadn't saved her. Perhaps she didn't want him, wanted somebody who _could_ save her.

He was filled with a desperate need to be that person.

Swallowing his dismay, he said honestly: "You performed in Don Juan Triumphant. You got us both out of there alive. I'm here for you now; it's all going to be all right. I'll carry you the rest of the way. You're as strong as you need to be."

For a moment, she almost believed it and she clung tighter to him. And he almost believed that she wanted to be in his arms, and his alone.

* * *

The wedding was a quiet one; quiet but showy, as befitted his family. He might have been a younger son, but he was also a de Chagny.

She was given away by nobody; and when she reached his side after a long walk down the aisle, he could see that she was shivering with fright. She might be comfortable on stage, but in her private life, in front of all these people whom she knew were judging her, she was scared.

In the back of his mind was also the notion that their tormentor would come back to haunt them yet again: were they really free?

But the ceremony carried through without interruption, and gradually her white-clad shoulders stopped shaking, and when they were pronounced man and wife, she kissed him back with as much passion as she had ever had. Perhaps there was even more than when she had kissed _him_.

Raoul hoped there was and feared there wasn't.

And still he couldn't be sure.

* * *

The night after they were married, she woke up screaming. He held her in his arms and waited for her gasps and sobs to quieten as chilling daydreams danced in his head.

"You're freezing," he said.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, the tears on her creamy face illuminated in the thin strip of moonlight escaping between the curtains. "How you must despise me."

"Christine, don't say that."

She couldn't say anything more. Raoul had no idea what he could say. He thought she loved him, she told him she did, but there was a look in her eye sometimes that he couldn't read.

"I love you," he said at last, opening his heart to her, ready for her to tread on it, which was what he had expected all along. But he was too young to be foolish enough to close himself off from the pain he feared was coming. And he was too selfish to give her up without her knowing what she meant to him. She had to know.

Her voice was broken and low when she asked him, "Do you, Raoul? Do you really?"

"Yes."

When he didn't hesitate for an instant, she began to grasp the idea that maybe, just maybe, he was telling the truth. But the past was so hard to forget, to leave behind, and she wasn't strong. She never had been strong. She hated herself for that.

But Raoul kept holding her, and gradually the warmth of his body brought her own back. He stayed holding her, uncomplaining, clasping her ice-cold skin to his chest. She might never be able to trust another again, but she could trust him. She needed him.

"I love you, too," she said softly, and hoped that he understood how completely she meant it. "I really do, and you don't seem to—" Abruptly she changed tone. "His voice, I hear it in my dreams. It compels me. The pity—it overwhelms me, until sometimes it's all I can do to resist going back to him, and I don't want to, _I don't want to..._"

Raoul felt threatened and yet lighter. One step closer to understanding the woman who had bewitched him. It was too dark for her to see his face, and so he let himself voice his deepest thoughts. "I couldn't save you last time. But I'll save you this time, Christine. I promise. I'll never let you go. Not unless you want to."

"No, not even then; don't let me go, Raoul." He felt her sit up; she touched his face. "You never failed me. Only I did that."

"No, you didn't."

_He had never failed her._

He still felt guilty, but the sweet knowledge that she didn't hold it against him went to some lengths to help him. He kissed her once, twice, three times, and she settled back down into his chest, her skin warmer now. _She needed him_. He held her tighter, and they were warmer and closer still. _She wanted him_. And after a time, they finally drifted asleep amidst a tangle of arms and legs and torsos. There was comfort in each others' presence. Tonight was a respite.

* * *

**Reviews are nice, but not essential. Hope you liked :)**


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